by J. Daniels
My mouth grew tight. Asshole. “Hey. Screw you,” I hissed. “That’s such a crap thing to say, you know that? And if that’s really what you think, then I don’t need to be sitting here with you either, shooting the shit or whatever the hell this is. I’m gone.”
I set my beer down, stood up, and reached for my bag, but before I could grab it, I was being spun around and directed back onto my stool with a firm hand on my hip.
“Sit,” Jamie ordered.
“No,” I snapped, wiggling and managing to get to my feet again. “Get your hands off me. I’m leaving.”
“You ain’t leavin’. Sit.”
He urged me onto the stool again, and this time, he did it with two hands, one on each hip, making my attempts at fighting back useless considering his strength versus mine. Then he kept his hands there, gripping me tightly as he leaned closer and put his face an inch away.
“You got a reason for what I just said pissin’ you off, and you’re gonna share that reason,” he informed me, his tone nonnegotiable. “Made an assumption and it’s one anyone would make considerin’ what you do for a living, babe, so quit with the tantrum. You know I dig your attitude but only when I’m askin’ for it. Now is not one of those times. And don’t fuckin’ forget why we’re sittin’ here in the first place, shootin’ the shit, as you so put it.”
“You shouldn’t have said that,” I whispered.
“Based on your reaction, I figured as much,” he countered, letting his own voice dip lower, not as soft as mine but still quiet. “Now share.”
I watched Jamie lean away, taking his hands off me and centering himself on his stool again. Only this time he kept his body facing me instead of the bar, propping one arm up on the wooden surface and keeping his other arm resting on his leg, where he went about cracking his knuckles, one finger at a time.
His eyes were unforgiving. Persistent bastard that he was, I knew Jamie wouldn’t let this go.
He never let anything go. Not even me.
Sighing, I shook my head. “What do you want to know?” I asked. “How I got my house? You think I didn’t pay for it? Because I did. And I’m still paying for it. Yes, my parents helped me with the down payment as part of my graduation gift, which is something a lot of parents do, not just well-off ones, but it’s my name on the mortgage and it’s my money keeping me living there. I do not take handouts from my family. All the money I have in my bank account is mine. I earned it. Waitressing and doing other things.”
“What other things?”
“Pageants.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Like, Miss America shit?” he asked.
“I didn’t enter that one. I quit when I was fourteen and you’re not eligible for that one until you’re seventeen,” I informed him.
“How many…what’d you call them?”
“Pageants.”
“Yeah. How many’d you do?”
“A lot.”
“How many’d you win?”
“All of them.”
A look of fascination passed over his face. “No shit,” he murmured, smiling softly and moving his eyes up and down the length of me. “Looks of a fuckin’ beauty queen and you actually got the rep to back it up. Nice.”
I glanced down at what I was wearing, thinking I wasn’t living up to that title much right about now. I wasn’t even wearing pants.
“Thanks,” I grumbled, tugging at the hem of his tee. I met his eyes. “So to answer your question, that’s how I can afford the sick setup I’m living in while working as a waitress. My parents opened an account when I was little and all the prize money I earned winning those pageants went into it. Then when I turned eighteen, I got that money.”
“What about your family?”
“What about them?”
“Said they were well off. What do they do?”
I gave him a look, not understanding why this question was being asked. “Uh, my last name is Rivera,” I reminded him.
He stared at me for several beats, then asked, “That supposed to mean somethin’ to me?”
“Well, yeah, it should be obvious.”
“It ain’t.”
“Really?” I blinked at him. “Have you never been inside a grocery store? My head is all over the frozen food section.”
He squinted in thought. “Say what?”
“Rivera Frozen Foods. Hello.”
Jamie kept staring. He had no idea what I was talking about.
“Do you not eat vegetables?” I asked. “Or fruit? We do frozen fruit, too. And rice. Do you eat rice?”
“What do you mean, your head is all over the frozen food section?” he asked, ignoring my questions.
“My face is on the bags,” I answered.
His eyebrows lifted.
“Well, my face when I was six. Pigtails. Freckles. I’m going like this.” I curled my hands into fists and stuck them under my chin, smiling big. “Ringing any bells yet?”
He stared at me, then his chest moved with a laugh. “Honestly? No. But I typically go for fresh stuff if I’m wantin’ it. Can’t say I’m in that aisle a lot.” He took a swig of his beer, never taking his eyes off me. “No shit, though? Your family owns a frozen food company?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“And you’re a waitress?”
I knew what Jamie was getting at. And even though I could’ve let his question and the implication he was making by asking it anger me, I didn’t.
I still kinda felt like I owed him. He smoked because of me. Also, he seemed to just be asking out of curiosity.
“I worked at the corporate office for two months after I graduated,” I informed him, keeping my attitude out of it. “It wasn’t working out, so I quit and moved here.”
“It wasn’t working out.” He stated this in disbelief.
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“Explain that.”
“Explain what?”
“Why you chose shitty tips over working with your family.”
I shook my head, then I looked behind the bar. He wasn’t getting that. I’d shared enough.
“Legs.”
I turned my head and met his eyes, and instead of telling him what he wanted to hear, I shared what he needed to hear.
“I’m a waitress because I want to be a waitress, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with wanting that,” I started. “I like my job. No. I love my job. I love every part of it. The people, both coming in to eat and the ones I work with. The location. The hours. The shitty tips, which are never shitty because I’m good at what I do, just so you know. I even love rolling silverware and filling salt shakers. I’m that crazy about it. Yes, I’m not gonna lie, it started out as something temporary and I wasn’t planning on falling in love with Whitecaps the way I did, but it happened. And when I fell in love with it, I stopped looking at that job as temporary and started looking at it as something I could see myself doing for years, as long as I stayed happy. And that’s what I am. I am happy, Jamie. Happier than I’ve ever been at any other job, including the one I had with my family, and I think being happy is more important than a lot of things. In fact, it might be the most important. I’m choosing to be happy. And I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk shit about something that means a great deal to me.”
“Wasn’t talkin’ shit,” he immediately shot back. “Just curious why you were doin’ what you were doin’, babe, when you got opportunities elsewhere. Relax. I get you wantin’ to be happy. And I get you wantin’ to stay somewhere that makes you happy. Who wouldn’t?”
I inhaled slowly through my nose, letting my nerves settle and tipping my chin up. “Good,” I said. “I’m glad you get that.”
The next breath I pulled in was sharp because Jamie leaned in and he did it quickly, letting his arm slide down the bar and crowding me on my stool. He looked deep into my eyes, lowered his voice, and continued on to say, “And whatever your reason for not stayin’ on with your family and movin’ to Dogwood, I’m gonna get that, too, j
ust so you know, when you give it up.”
“I’m not giving it up,” I shared.
“You’ll give it up.”
“That’s never happening, Jamie.”
“It’s happening, babe.”
“No.” I moved in, putting us even closer. “It isn’t,” I snapped. “That’s mine. And you’re not getting it.”
“I’m gettin’ it.”
My lips curled against my teeth.
God, he was seriously annoying.
Jamie smiled, watching this happen, then he leaned away and reached for his beer, telling me, “Just like the bet. You’ll give it up, Legs. Watch.”
The bet.
Damn it.
My scowl was starting to form and it was going to be a scary one, until I remembered what I was capable of, what I was wearing, and more specifically, what I wasn’t wearing underneath.
The bet.
Hell yeah. I had this in the bag.
I stood and I did it quickly, needing to play up the effect I was going for and figuring a little dizziness would help.
I was right.
“Whoa,” I moaned, wincing. I held on to the bar and blinked Jamie into focus. “Can you help me to the bathroom? I’m feeling wobbly.”
I was lying. Big-time. But Jamie didn’t know that.
“You serious?” he asked, watching the display I was putting on.
I swayed and grabbed my head. This was all an act, too.
“Jesus, Legs. You barely made a dent in your second beer,” he said, coming to his feet. He slid his arm around my waist, gripping me and taking my weight when I leaned into him, playing the part, then he started walking me toward the bathrooms, which were tucked back in this small, narrow hallway next to the stage, away from the crowd.
Away from everyone.
No one was about to see what I had planned, which was the reason I was going through with this.
The hallway was dark and concealed, and when Jamie stopped at the door decorated with a bikini top, fitting, indicating the women’s room, he muttered a “there you go” under his breath and released me so I could enter.
Only, I didn’t enter. Going to the bathroom wasn’t part of the plan.
I righted myself, allowing my tipsy façade to fade away. Then I took a step back, turned, and blocked Jamie’s path out of this perfectly hidden hallway. I looked him square in the eyes, gave myself a second to enjoy the baffled look in his, which I enjoyed immensely, he really did look confused, before telling him, “You’re not the only one who never loses.”
I was referring to my pageant days.
And then, I flashed him.
I totally flashed him.
Never before in my life had I done anything like this, but a bet was a bet. And I was winning this one.
Jamie’s eyes lowered and he immediately started staring.
I was expecting shock. I was expecting desire, considering this was Jamie and I knew how he felt about me.
I got both.
I also got a groan.
Jamie McCade actually groaned looking at my bare breasts. That had never happened to me before.
This was the best plan ever. I was totally going to win.
Then he looked me in the eyes after I lowered his shirt, gaze burning, and promised, “You’re gonna pay for that.”
I didn’t know if he meant now or later and I wasn’t sticking around to find out.
Spinning around, I bolted to the bar, grabbed my things, and got the hell out of there.
And I did it grinning.
* * *
Later that night I was sitting on my couch, dressed comfortably in leggings and a baggy WildFox tee, and I was shifting my attention between the episode of Mob Wives I had cued up and the notepad I was doodling on, when I heard the sound of motorcycle pipes drawing closer and closer to my house.
I paused, pen stilling on the “e” I was tracing and head turning toward the window. My eyes narrowed.
He wouldn’t…
The sound kept coming, growing louder until I knew without a doubt it was emanating from my driveway. Then the engine cut off.
He would.
“Bastard,” I uttered, tossing the pad and pen on the coffee table and coming to my feet.
I marched to the door, unlocked it, swung the door open, and readied my greeting, which was going to be something along the lines of threatening castration if Jamie didn’t step off my property immediately, I’d had enough of this, but no one was there. My porch was empty.
What the…
“Hello?” I called out, sticking my head outside and getting a look at Jamie’s bike parked next to my car.
Weird. Where was he?
“Jamie?” I tried again, hollering a little louder this time.
“What’s up, babe?”
Gasping, I spun around and clutched at my chest.
Jamie was standing in my living room, looking a little too pleased with himself based on the smirk he was wearing, and holding what appeared to be a take-out bag full of food in one hand and a six-pack of Cherry Coke in the other.
I blinked at him, feeling my heart pounding against my palm.
“What are you doing in here?” I asked, darting my eyes around my living space. “How did you even get in?”
“Back door. Figured you’d try and keep me out this time so I got creative,” he answered, flashing me a smile when I looked into his face. He lifted his hand holding the bag of food. “Hope you like Chinese. Was gonna call, but I didn’t want you expectin’ anything. Sound familiar?”
I glowered.
“Got us an assortment,” he added, then he started moving toward the couch.
“Excuse me?”
“Dinner,” he clarified, even though I knew what he meant and exactly what this was.
It was happening again. Jamie was getting comfortable.
In my house. On my couch. With some seriously delicious-smelling food.
I shut my door, putting force behind it.
I was angry at him for showing up uninvited, again. I was especially angry at him for his honed skills in breaking and entering, a talent I was certain he’d put to use whenever the situation called for it, meaning every time he showed up at my house like this.
I’d never be able to keep him out.
And I was really angry because Jamie brought food I was suddenly craving and that craving was taking precedence over everything else at the moment, including my desire to get rid of him.
Fine. One last time.
“The only reason I’m allowing this to happen tonight and tonight only is because I’m starving and that food is smelling a lot better than the bowl of cereal I was planning on making myself, so don’t think this is going to become a habit because it’s not,” I declared, walking over to the couch and taking a seat on the far end. “Also, I will be putting new locks on all my doors come morning, and they’re going to be military grade.”
Jamie breathed a laugh as he started unloading container after container, spreading them out on the coffee table.
“Go ahead and test my skills, babe. Just know…” He paused, turning his head to look at me. “If you’re in this fuckin’ house, I’m gettin’ in.”
I looked into his eyes, reading his seriousness. “You sound crazy, you know that?” I shared.
“Not crazy if deep down you’re really wantin’ me in here.”
“Oh no. He’s onto me,” I joked, feigning alarm with an overplayed gasp and a hand to my chest.
Jamie stared at me for a breath, letting his eyes wander over my features, then he smiled, shook his head, and turned away.
“What’re you feelin’?” he asked. “Got a little bit of everything. Chicken. Pork…”
A phone beeped, breaking up his rundown of what he’d brought. I knew it wasn’t mine since I had mine plugged in and charging upstairs, doing that after I took a shower and got dressed. So I started peeking at the food.
While I did that, Jamie dropped the container he wa
s holding, leaned back, and reached into his pocket, pulling out his device. He read the text.
“Shit. Figures this would happen now,” he mumbled, coming to his feet. “Come on. We gotta go.”
I looked up from the container of shrimp fried rice I was staring longingly into.
“Excuse me?”
He reached down and took the container I was holding, siting it on the coffee table among the others.
“We’ll eat when we get back. I need to go pick up my sister, and you’re tagging along. Come on. Up.” He grabbed on to the underside of my arm and started pulling me off the couch.
“What—”
“Need you to come with me,” he repeated, cutting me off. His voice vibrated with meaning.
I spun around, which pulled me out of his hold, flattened my hand on his chest, and pressed firm, halting him. Then I stared up into his eyes and saw they were also conveying a sudden urgency, matching his voice.
I didn’t understand any of it.
“Why do I need to go with you?” I asked, needing to know a reason before I went anywhere, especially anywhere with him.
Jamie’s jaw clenched.
I wondered if he was craving another cigarette, looking as stressed as he was looking, and that prompted me to say my next words.
“I’ll go,” I assured him. “I just wanna know why you need me. And I think it’s a fair question. I don’t know your sister.”
Jamie exhaled a breath, nodding once.
“Right,” he began. “She’s at a bar gettin’ hit on by a bunch of shitheads she don’t wanna be gettin’ hit on by, considerin’ they’re dudes and she ain’t into dudes, expressed that to them, and they’re still hittin’ on her and bein’ persistent about it. She’s had one too many and can’t drive home. Needs me. Thinkin’ if I walk in there and see what I’m expectin’ to see, I might lay a few motherfuckers out in front of people who could catch it on camera or call the cops, and that can’t happen. I got sponsors I can’t lose. They see me fightin’ or doin’ shit they don’t like, they drop me. This is where you come in.”
I wet my lips, letting all of that information sink in, which took me a few seconds considering the amount of information he’d shared.
